Mind Your Speech A Little Lest You

A Countenance More In Sorrow Than In Anger.

The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose, And On Old Hiems' Thin And Icy Crown An Odorous Chaplet Of Sweet Summer Buds Is, As In Mockery, Set. The Spring, The Summer, The Childing Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries, And The Mazed World, By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.

And Mind, With My Heart In't; And Now Farewell Till Half An Hour Hence.

A Light Heart Lives Long.

Bondage Is Hoarse, And May Not Speak Aloud.